The Epistles
by thedarkpoet
Summary: Despite its pretentious name and mediocre vlogging, Meg's story is one of a curious world - one not revealed to just anyone. Though her therapist is responsible for the Epistles, they continue when Meg discovers just how deep the rabbit hole is.


So. Um…Hi.

This is my video-diary. I guess.

I mean, my therapist said that it would help 'work through my issues' or something.

Yeah, I've got a therapist. Feel free to run for the hills…webcam.

Ok, so if I have my way, no one is ever going to see this thing, _including_ my therapist, because it would be so weird for someone to watch me talking if I'm not there.

Also this is kind of private.

Actually, my therapist knows the whole sordid story, but she thinks that me keeping a diary will bring out the truth.

As if I lied to her or something.

So, where does the story begin?

I suppose I should really start with Lucy.

Lucy is - no, was. Was my roommate.

We go to Friedel College, in northern Alberta.

It is a private college. In northern Alberta.

If you're not getting the picture, let me clear things up for you a bit. From my window I can see: trees.

Lots of different kinds of trees, don't get me wrong. Blue spruce, white pine, beech and oak, all planted in perfectly straight lines when they built this place a hundred years ago. Of course, most of the view is obscured by the brick wall that encircles the property.

And beyond that - nothing.

I know what you're thinking; private college, in the middle of nowhere, what could possibly go wrong? But I'm not setting you up for a horror film. This school has a surprisingly violence-free past, which is why my parents sent me here.

I know, post-secondary education is supposed to be branching out and trying new things, but when your parents (your very rich parents) offer you a free ride through college, you don't pass that up.

And Friedel College is not cheap. I don't even look at the bills, but its probably more money that most people make over a life time, and the school population reflects this financial fact.

We are, to a one, rich spoiled brats.

We are. I can say this - I am one. My family is the sort of family who owns a summer cottage bigger than their regular house when their regular house has a six-car garage and six cars to fill it, and more property than some small nations in Europe. We have four family members and eleven bedrooms, and my basement has more electronic gear than the Apple Store.

I'm not trying to brag about this stuff, but I think it makes the situation at Friedel pretty clear.

You don't come here unless you have some serious funds to back you up.

The school population is only about four thousand people, and honestly, its like high school all over again. Except in high school you didn't have to sleep where you study.

But I was telling you about Lucy.

I met Lucy on the first day of college. She hadn't shown up during frosh week, and I thought'd lucked out into a single room when she strolled through the door.

At Friedel, all first years have roommates, because its considered to be necessary part of the college experience. Like, you have to learn to deal with the fact that sometimes fate will just screw you over and stick you with the most disgusting person on the planet.

But Lucy wasn't like that. Sure, she wasn't all bubbly smiles and let's BBM, but she was friendly enough. We got along well, given that I had somehow missed out when everyone else had been awarded their best friends forever during frosh week. In a school of four thousands, cliques formed quickly, and Lucy and I got stuck on the outside.

She told me she'd had a death in the family when I asked her about why she missed frosh week, and I didn't press things. I was too glad to have someone to eat lunch with. I'd like to think that we were friends. And as her friend, I got to hear a lot about Charles.

Charles was Lucy's boyfriend. By her account, he was still in Victoria, while she had been shipped off to the backside of nowhere. He was described as sweet and funny and the perfect complement to Lucy's fair good looks: tall, dark, and handsome.

She talked about him all the time. And I didn't believe a word she said.

Because the boy didn't exist.

She had no pictures of him, nothing he'd given her, not so much as a cutesy little note. He didn't appear to have an address, a phone or a Facebook account.

As far as I was concerned, Lucy had invented a boyfriend to seem worldly and knowledgable, and I was willing to put up with that. It wasn't as if I had men lining up at my door. Friedel has a fairly strict policy on sexual segregation: you are here to learn, not flirt. And holding up a long-distance relationship from within these signal-killing walls is a bit of a pipe dream.

I'm making it sound like a prison. It's not so bad, really, but the lack of public transportation or nearby towns makes it difficult to visit your significant other.

So you can imagine my surprise when I met Charles.

Two seconds before he collapsed, bleeding, on the cafeteria floor.


End file.
